Luxury
by planet p
Summary: AU; Post-Season 2 – Rachel feels something inside her has changed, and she doesn't like it. Will it always be like this, or can she figure out what's wrong and overcome it?


**Luxury** by planet p

Disclaimer: I don't own _Fringe_ or any of its characters.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

**Rachel**

There is something not right here, I can feel it. It arrives by night, cloaked in its midnight shadows, takes one look at me, surreptitiously, and dives right in, peeling back the layers of my skin, muscle and bone, all those gritty things, until it finds itself that perfect spot where it's right at home. It can wait all night and day, inside its comfy cocoon, and then open one sleepy eye, and peep outside, looking out through my eyes, destroying everything it sees, in silent. It eats me up inside, it is always hungry, always ravenous. It poisons me from within. The more it eats, the sicker I get, like an illness I just can't shake. I don't want it, I detest it, despise it, but I'm not strong enough yet. I can't overcome it, but the time will come. For now, I lay in wait. And I hope.

It is not interested in the young. It leaves Ella right out of it. I'm secretly glad, but I'd never let on, in case it caught wind of this and decided to change its tune out of spite, or mere wickedness. It is a wicked thing, this terrible thing that makes me eye my friends with distrust, my one true friend, with suspicion. This sickness is hungry, so hungry. It is determined to take everything from me, to poison me against everyone I love, but I am not down yet. If I have no other choice, I will choose her. I will choose Olivia, and I'll slowly fade away. I know she'd never hurt me, never hurt my baby. She has always loved me, and I love her, too. It is just this damn sickness. I don't know why it hates her, I couldn't even guess if I tried, but the fire is only stronger, each time I close my eyes, each time I open them again. Something must be done, but I'm lost.

I'm lost, and I can't reach out. I can't ask for help. I can't do anything – but float. I am a stranger in my body. I am no longer the one it listens to and loves. This sickness has taken even that from me, but it won't have it all.

It won't.

I will be strong, one day. I will be stronger than even it.

.

**September**

Here is the thing, he _does_ understand. He is a living being, of course he understands. He has lived, he has feelings, like any living thing. But that luxury, as simple as it may seem, to some, is not their own. For as long as he has understood these things, he has also understood this. He does not hold hope that one day things will be different. They will not. Not now, not like this. In another life, perhaps. This time around, it will always been like this. One person can never be held in higher priority to the entirety of the universe, love does not win, in the end, there is always another time, another life, for that, for such frivolity. Without the world, there would be no chance for things like that, like love, or even hate. They must keep this, must preserve this. They have no choice. All other things come after.

He understands this and it almost doesn't hurt. It almost makes him feel proud, to do what he does. And of course he loves them, in a manner of speaking, because they are a part of everything, and everything is everything. Everything that matters. He does not resent that, it would be in bad taste. He is a living being, too. He lives in this world, also.

He respects the way of things. And in the way of things, he is the Observer. A preserver, a maintainer. Some would see it as a noble calling, a privilege. For him, it is the reason. The reason he is alive. For him, it is every reason. And you cannot break something like that, you cannot decide you are something you are not. You must accept the truth and live, anyway.

Yes, he can believe that love can be an important reason, too, but he understands. He understands, but they will have to be brave, and sometimes, they will have to make the hard choices, they will have to take the "callous" option. They are not looking out for what the human species like to call "humanity", for emotions and heart – they are looking out for the existence of the universe. What could be more important than that, logically?

Nothing whatsoever.

.

**Rachel**

Ella is in school now. She's growing up, I only hope the world she's growing into will be as good to her as she is to it. My baby's in school, so I'm working now. I can't write anymore. I used to write short stories for children, but all that's changed, now. Something inside isn't ready to come out, to put into words what it feels. There's a darkness in me that I don't feel deserves to see the light, and I won't let it win. I will stay my hand, I will bite my tongue; I will adjust my expression, I will not glare or spread hate with my eyes. I love my life, I love the people in my life; I work now. Maybe it can help.

I am reduced to a monster hiding in plain sight, but I am growing stronger with every day. For now, I must accept this existence, I must live as I am. I will live, I will change. I will find my way back to that person I was before, back to better.

I have to.

No choice.

I could not live the rest of my life with this blackness inside me. I am not so strong; I cry at night. I used to enjoy life, but now I'm living out a lie, surviving on memories from the past. My smile is never new; I look inside my chest, and pull something suitable out and paste it to my face, but I'm lying. And the lying kills me inside.

The sad irony is, the monster living inside me... only smiles.

.

**Chapter One**

Heavy rain lashes the windows, turning the street outside into a blurry canvas. Colours and shapes don't make sense. Rachel refills a customer's coffee, wondering how Ella is doing at school. Does the rain and clouds outside make her sad? Is she a little bit bored, a little bit cold? Has she made some new friends, or is she lonely, wondering why no-one wants to talk to her?

"I love you, baby," Rachel whispers, turning away from a table and beginning the walk back to the counter. "Olivia and I love you. You're perfect and funny and so, so clever. If those other kids don't want to be your friend, they don't know what they're missing out on. Hang tight, bub. You are loved."

Lightning cracks in the sky, and she falters, starting. The radio dissolves into static and cuts out, the song it had been playing now silent. She waits, but nothing happens. The channel stays dead. She starts walking back to the counter.

This weather can't be normal. She thought they'd left the thunder and chilliness behind, but now it's back again. It crept up when no-one was watching. Maybe it was lonely.

A colleague flips channels and finds one that's still going, still pretty clean. They're talking about the traffic conditions.

Rachel closes her eyes. She finds it hard to sleep, these days. Today isn't a good day for her. She's feeling really low and she hates that. She hates that Ella will see and dim down, too. She doesn't want to hold Ella back in any way, and it makes her ill to think the darkness inside her might infringe upon the the brightness and life inside her daughter. Ella is a burning light, a star bright, bright. Beautiful inside and out. Rachel wants to cry, whenever she thinks of that ever changing. She wants Ella to be happy; she wants her to have everything she needs and wants.

It's only right.

The traffic report ends and something else comes on. Rachel doesn't pay it any attention. The tears are starting now and she almost can't be bothered to send them away. She misses Ella right now, but it's a good kind of missing. The kind of missing you know will be all the sweeter because it's not forever, but this monster inside trips her up, even now. No, she cannot be sure she will always be there for Ella. She may have to leave.

But it is Olivia she misses more, because when she's holding Ella in her arms, she feels the love beating in time with her heart, but when she looks at her sister, when they talk, she only feels cold. Her heart will not speak; it hides itself away. It won't tangle with the monster. And so, the monster wins. Olivia might be right there, but Rachel feels she's a million miles away.

A tear runs down her cheek and she ignores it. If she acknowledges it, it will only get worse, and she doesn't want her boss to think she can't do her job and turn her out. She's not having a mental breakdown. She is _not_. She refuses.

There are tables waiting to be wiped down, dishes waiting to be cleared away. She walks away to do that, singing quietly to herself, a song she knows in Spanish. It helps her keep her mind off the bad, bad feeling. For a little while, at least. She doesn't ask for the world, and a little while seems a pretty fair deal.

She finishes up with the tables and finds a seat, sitting down heavily. The man sitting across the table doesn't seem to notice her at all. He looks kinda down, but she's not really sure. Maybe that's just her mind, and a funny mind she has, always reading into things.

Stop it, she tells herself. He's not sad, it's just this weather. It's disappointing, you know. You can't say you're pleased, or pleasantly surprised. You'd rather it was sunny, too.

Helen pauses on her way past, and says, "Take a break, Rachel. You look awful."

Rachel doesn't argue, but Helen's words worry her. Awful is not good; awful upsets the customers. She almost gets up to fix her makeup, before she remembers she skipped that ritual this morning. Her hands were too tired. She had a coffee instead.

She takes the packet of Smarties out of her pocket and tips some out onto the tabletop, arranging them into letters. She spells out HELLO in different coloured Smarties and wishes she could add: Do you do hugs? I can deal. I've got sweets.

She can't remember the last time Olivia hugged her, the last time she felt close to her. It's just the coldness, these days; the desolation and emptiness. Some days, she feels so brittle, as though she might break into a million pieces and fall to the ground. It can happen any time. It can be as little as hearing someone's laugh, or seeing a smile shared between friends. It all hurts.

The man looks at the window and she has a feeling he's noticed her, at last. He's hoping to avoid her, she supposes. She rearranges the letters, adding some more Smarties. The letters now say: SAY GLOOMY. "I don't bite," she adds, feeling braver, and almost smiles. He's definitely avoiding her. Poor thing, probably thinks she's mad. She remembers Helen telling her she looked awful. It's unlikely anything will have changed.

She holds out a hand. "I'm Rachel."

"I am not interested," he says at last, sounding pained. Talking to Rachel is just painful like that. Ugh!

"Did I hurt you somehow?" she asks, arranging her Smarties into a frowney face.

"You are interrupting my work," he tells her, looking away from the window finally. "That hurts me."

She can't help but laugh. "Mr. Serious!" She shakes her head, annoyed with herself. Wow, mean! "Sorry, that was glib. Guess I'm just in a hurtful mood. Slap your face, Rachel!" She frowns. "You're a meteorologist, or something?"

"No."

"You're really mad at me, huh?"

"No."

She laughs. "Poor boy, you're not helping yourself."

"I believe that is you," he returns.

She holds her hands up in surrender, smiling in spite of his unhappy comment. "Make it up to you, gloomy eyes?"

"I am not... gloomy."

She grins. She has forgotten about the dreary weather; this new conversation is much more interesting. "Yeah. You are."

"You are imagining things," he replies.

She laughs. "Oops!" She realises she sounds like a bit of a bitch, but she can't actually help it. She doesn't mean to hurt the guy, she just wants someone to talk to.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asks suddenly.

She nods silently, finding it hard not to burst out laughing. Yes, stop making fun of him, silly-boo, she tells herself.

"Why?"

Finally, she gives up and says, "Oh, I'm just teasing you!"

"Stop," he tells her, leaving no room for argument.

She stops smiling, too. She's not sure he's a meteorologist anymore. He seems more like an investment banker or a lawyer; they have short tethers, too. Then she wishes she hadn't thought it at all, it only makes her think of Olivia. Olivia never loses her patience with her. She might have been a bit of a workaholic, but she only works so hard because she knows it's for a good cause. She believes there's stuff still worth fighting for. Rachel believes that, too.

She scrambles up her Smarties, choosing a few and pushing the others away. The Smarties spell out SAD. (Are you sad?, or I'm sad, she can't be sure.) "I miss my sister," she says, though she really doesn't know why she's bothering to say anything at all. It's not like he could care; he's had about as much of her as he can take. "I love her so much, but there's this wall between us now. I hide behind it and throw things at her, mean, horrible things. She doesn't know, but a part of me hates her. A part of me wishes she would just go away. I apologise if I upset you. I'll be going now." She stands up, collecting her Smarties in her palm and pauses, then closes her hand. She had thought of leaving him a couple, but nobody wants sweets someone else has had their fingers all over.

She looks up and catches Helen's unhappy look. She isn't pleased with her gloominess. Probably, she's not too pleased with her pestering the customers, either. Rachel wonders if she's going to tell her she won't be needing her to come back.

She can remember being happy, as a girl, but it's just a distant memory. She wishes she could feel like that again, for real. She wishes she wouldn't feel so cold when Olivia smiles at her, like her blood had just turned to ice.

She feels suddenly drained of energy, of incentive. If she was a robot, she'd be about ready from the dump. She can almost imagine that. "We won't buy that brand again; it has no longevity. What a rip off!" She doesn't laugh, or cry. She has to get back to work now.

Someone catches her arm, and she stops. But only because it's what you do. She's over that now; she doesn't want to connect, she wants to fade away, to disappear. Blown away by the raging storm.

She turns back around. She hasn't got any more smart comments, anything clever to say. Her eyes are just her eyes; they don't pretend to be okay. She isn't okay; she knows that now. She needs to pull herself back together, before she falls all apart. Before she passes the point of no hope.

For Ella. For Livvy.

Her hands are shaking. The Smarties stain her palm with rainbow colours, the chocolate's slowly melting in her hand. She doesn't even want them anymore. She can't remember why she liked chocolate. It always makes her throat so scratchy.

She doesn't know this guy, but he pulls her into his arms and holds her anyway, like maybe he'd read her mind, like maybe he'd noticed she was a person too, and didn't she look a little sad, a little bit blue?

A part of her gets up its heckles, it doesn't want foreign comforts, it tells her they're not what she needs. They're just an illusion, and she'd be a fool to buy into them. But a part of her cries inside, a part of her is so, so sad. If she could, she'd say, "I never meant to frighten you. I'm fine, truly." If she could, she'd lie, because breaking someone's heart is wrong and it makes her feel so, so low. If she could, she would smile and say, "Believe me, I'm fine." She'd be lying, but that would be okay, because she doesn't know this guy, and she's really messing up his day with her messy soul. And that's not nice, that's not fair.

Why should she get to ruin his day, too?

"You are loved," he says quietly, and she knows he's right.

Of course she is.

.

Clearly, the accommodations do not please December, but he does not make comment on this. Instead, he asks, "Does the woman trust you?"

September isn't pleased, either, but it's not for the same reason, and he's not sure sharing this with December would be all that smart. It's disingenuous, but it is necessary. This task December has sent him on is very strange, very out-of-character for their kind. He's not sure December is thinking of the Plan. Perhaps something, or someone, else thought they could run the show better, and December is listening to them now, too. He isn't sure, but he decides a little caution can't hurt.

"Yes," he answers plainly. The December he is familiar with isn't fond of long-winded answers. He likes things to the point. "That will be all?" he asks.

"For now," December replies simply, giving no indication as to his feelings either way.

September almost sighs. He wants to ask December what this is all about, but he decides to remain patient. It is just so frustrating. They never interfere. It's just something they don't do. And, from September's point of view, it is just asking for trouble. He doesn't like trouble. He likes things to work smoothly. Trouble is an unnecessary complication that can, most times, be avoided with the proper handling of things. Only, this time, he has a sinking feeling that trouble is most definitely on its way.

December doesn't offer anything else, but decides now is the time to leave, and walks out. A moment or two later, the lights die.

September wishes August weren't gone. They could have conferred on the matter. He understands that Rachel is Olivia Dunham's younger sister, but that understanding doesn't yield any answers, to his mind. It is merely a fact. Rachel was not treated with Cortexiphan as a child, she was never experimented on; she is "normal", from that vantage point. There is no reason he can see for this level of interference on their behalf, and it is quite distressing. All the more distressing is that this decision is not December acting alone; he has obviously been in concert with the others.

The lights flicker for a moment, as though to come back on, but then stay off. September has a feeling like something is very wrong; he is being kept out of knowing what's going on for some reason, and he doesn't like it. Are they angry at him for something? And why should that interfere with the Plan? By rights, nothing should interfere with preserving the universe. So if they were punishing him for something, then they were wrong in doing so. Completely, horribly wrong. And if he was smart, he'd find out all he could about their plans, and who was involved, and put a stop to it. He'd find someone who wasn't involved, and tell them enough was enough.

He is not their puppet; he does not work for them. The work he does is for the universe, for all things, and he can see no future for this scheme of theirs other than hindrance of his work, of _their_ work, and untold destruction.

He will have to decide soon. It cannot afford to wait. In truth, he knows what he should do, but these people are his co-workers, his family, and he doesn't know that it would go down so well with them if they saw him as stabbing them in the back. He has to be smart about it, he can't jeopardise the Plan. He will need to think. And thinking takes time.

.

"September will not be pleased when he learns the truth," July tells December. It doesn't take extraordinary sharpness to know this. He's known September long enough to know he doesn't enjoy when they get things wrong, time wasting. In fact, he's pretty sure September would be fairly well upset, if he ever learnt the truth. He doesn't say so, though. He doesn't want December frowning on him the way he did August.

"Then he will not learn the truth," comes December's simple reply.

"I understand," July returns, and he has the niggling feeling that December's still unhappy at August for something, even though he's gone, which may be the whole reason in the first place. Either that – and he doesn't like to think this – or December feels left out, somehow, wronged. Why did it have to be August, then why did he have to go and stick up for that human woman and get himself killed? Why couldn't he just explain it to them in a way they could understand so they wouldn't have had to intervene and send Donald to take care of the woman? Why would August feel so strongly about something he knew nothing about, enough to put his own life on the line? It wasn't rational. Why did he have to make them all out to be incompetent and killers?

Perhaps the answer was simple: because they had always been told they were beyond those sorts of things. They were alive, but they were special, capable of making some sort of exception, if they so deemed. When, in truth, they were no more immune to it than any other living being.

July sighs, slightly irritated. He doesn't like to lie to September, but he doesn't know how he'd ever go about telling him the truth. He would never believe it. And he'd never understand how he could need someone like Olivia Dunham's sister; how one of their kind could need one of the humans. He was a soldier much more than a diplomat or a politician. He could work with a unit, but he didn't do partners. He was strong on his own, with the mission to keep him going.

He didn't need anyone else.

July sighs and glances to the darkened window. The storm is still in full force. "December, I hope you are right about this," he whispers, and silently add, And you had better not expect me to be the one to break it to September. That is something I cannot do.

He could never do that, he thinks. He could do anything else, but even he has some shred of loyalty to his own kind. As it was, it is bad enough that August is gone, but he could never face upending everything September believed in also. It would be entirely counter-productive to the Plan. He just hopes December knows what he's doing, because he's lost.

He can't help but feel all the worse for trying to trick September into something like this. He is shocked from his thoughts at the sound of December's voice nearby.

"July, understand this: August simply was not strong enough."

"We will never know for sure, now that he is gone," he replies, then regrets having lost his head. Still, he feels he should stick up for September. If August had still been around, then September could have been spared this ordeal.

Reaching out a hand, he collects the car keys from the counter top and hands them to December, who asks, "Did you move them?"

"No, I did not move them."

December frowns, then drops the look, deciding it isn't worth it. He turns and walks back to the door.

July makes sure to lock the door after him. He has his own work to return to, without December's interference.

.

Ella frowns sadly at the spider. The other kids at school had thought it was icky, but she hadn't liked when they'd started poking it with their pencils, so she'd scooped it up and hid it in her pocket. She'd known it was dead, it's legs were all curled up, so she wasn't scared of it, she just didn't like how disrespectful the other children were being to something when it was dead and no danger to them.

It's lying in her hand now and nothing has changed. It's still dead. It wasn't just sleeping or anything. It was really dead.

She wonders why its legs are curled up like that, like it was scared, or something. She doesn't like that thought. Or maybe it's just something that happens because it's not alive to stretch out its legs anymore, so they just go all un-stretched-outty.

She puts it down on the counter and walks off to find something to wrap it in to bury it. A tissue, or something. She doesn't just want to drop it in the bin. If she died, she thinks she'd probably be offended if anyone just dropped her in the bin.

A loud scream pulls her from her wanderings and she runs back into the kitchen, seeing Olivia staring at the dead spider with wide, disgusted eyes.

"It's just a spider," she says.

Olivia grabs a mug to squash it with and Ella quickly says, "It's already dead!"

Narrowing her eyes, Olivia sighs and puts the mug down with a small chink. "You're right. Those are some good eyes you've got there, kiddo," suddenly acting as though she'd never screamed, never been scared of the spider at all, but Ella can see the lingering edge of distrust dark in her eyes. She doesn't know why it's there, just that it is.

"Excuse me," Rachel interrupts, picking the spider up and dropping it into her hand. "Let's take our little friend outside to greet the morning sun in peace."

"He'll get eaten!" Ella complains, ignoring the way Olivia scrunches up her nose and mumbles, "Eww!"

"He's dead, hon. I don't think he cares much anymore. Besides, the other little creepy-crawlies need to eat, too, you know."

"They can eat something else!" Ella protests.

"Like your toes, for example?" Rachel suggests.

"No!"

"Let him go, sweetie. Hmm?" She opens her hand. "You wanna say 'goodbye'?"

Ella makes a face, but shuffles closer. "Goodbye," she says to the spider, patting one of its legs with the tiniest corner of her fingertip. She doesn't notice the way Olivia is glaring at her sister, but when Rachel leaves with the spider, Olivia swoops over and takes her with her to the bathroom to wash her hands with warm water and soap.

"All better!" Olivia tells her, when she's drying her hands with a hand towel, and smiles.

Ella doesn't smile back. She supposes she will have to try harder to make friends at school tomorrow instead of playing with dead things. The spider probably died because the humans poisoned it. She's not sure it would be happy knowing they were touching its dead body. It would probably think that was very creepy.

"How can he greet the morning sun, Mommy?" she asks, when Rachel's putting her to bed. "He's dead."

"His spirit," Rachel suggests, and Ella frowns.

"I don't think spiders drink whiskey, Mommy."

For some reason, that makes Rachel smile, but Ella doesn't ask why, and Rachel hugs her and says "goodnight, pumpkin", then kisses her on the head and goes out of the room. Ella sighs and decides she's not going to bring dead spiders home again. She didn't know it would scare her aunt, but now that she does, she has learnt her lesson.

Later, Aunt Liv sneaks into her room and sits down on her bed. "You awake, honey?"

"Yes," she whispers back.

"Oh, good! I know your birthday's coming up soon, so I wanted to ask what you'd like."

She frowns. "I don't mind. You choose. I like surprises."

"There's nothing you'd like, if you could choose anything at all?"

"Maybe something... but that's not going to happen."

"Why not, honey?"

Ella's eyes widen and she sits up in bed quickly, catching Olivia's eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"What are _you_ thinking?" Olivia challenges, with a smile in her voice.

"I want a little sister or brother. But a cousin would be okay," she adds.

Olivia laughs.

Ella's shoulders slump and she sighs. "Surprise me, Aunt Liv. I'll be happy with whatever you get me, as long as it's from you!"

Olivia nods and pats her hair. "Okay, kiddo. Get some sleep, okay."

"Okay," she replies. Olivia leaves the room and she closes her eyes. It wasn't as though she'd really expected Livvy to suddenly declare Peter and she were madly in love and ready to start a family. It was a nice thought, but it just wasn't practical. FBI Agents- her aunt, at least, is all about the job. Like that was going to change overnight.

.

"You shouldn't let Ella play with things like that," Olivia tells Rachel unhappily, in the kitchen, and Rachel frowns.

"I didn't give it to her, if that's what you're implying, Liv. She must have found it somewhere herself and picked it up."

"She didn't find it in my apartment!" Olivia tells her, crossing her arms.

Rachel sighs. "I didn't say that she did, Livvy."

"All I'm saying is, start acting like a responsible adult," Olivia tells her casually, as she's leaving the kitchen, and Rachel is struck dumb, unable to say anything back out of sheer shock. A part of her can't believe Olivia has just said what she has said, but another part of her just knows there is more where that came from.

Rachel swallows any ideas she has of crying, and walks to the fridge, opening the door and taking out an already opened bottle of wine. After that comment, she needs a drink. She doesn't want to hate her sister, but she can't help but feel angry at her just then.

What was she going on about? She _is_ a responsible adult _and_ a proper parent. Ella knew not to touch spiders or insects that were alive; she knew they could hurt her, if they felt threatened by her. Rachel just can't understand where Olivia is coming from this time.

She pours herself a glass of wine and drinks the lot before placing her glass down on the counter, then pours herself another glass and returns the bottle to the fridge, telling herself that she's overreacting. So Liv's human too? What was wrong with that? Maybe she'd had a falling out with Peter that she didn't feel like talking about. That would probably make her pretty topsy-turvy, Rachel thinks. She knows Liv likes the guy, and as far as she'd been aware, he'd sorta liked her too. But maybe something had come up and gotten in between them, something work-related? Rachel can see that happening. She knows Olivia errs toward being a bit of a workaholic, and she knows Peter's a pretty smart guy. Maybe it's one of those If you think you can do such a great job! things. She doesn't know, but she hopes they work it out soon.

She feels hurt by Liv's words and she really wants her sister to be happy.

Taking her glass of wine with her, she sits down on the couch and switches on the TV, hitting closed captions so she can play it on mute. She just wants to check out the weather forecast, then she'll try to get off to bed.

* * *

><p><span>AN: Okay, this present tense thing is _killing_ me! I'm gonna have to go to past tense. Ugh! Why do I even start stuff in present tense? Sorry, evs. On a side note, I don't think I'm really gonna be able to write this fandom. Would like to, but feel horribly out-of-sync! :( Thoughts?

Anyway, Rachel's weird feeling is because the Olivia that came back from the other world isn't her sister, it's the Olivia from the other side. Ugh! Rebecca seemed to have some natural talent for paranormally kinda things, so I decided, being Olive's sister, maybe Rachel could too. And I just wanted to torture September. Sorry, Tembe!


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